Stuff
Shivering, I find myself lying on the floor of the living room. The cold feel of the floor beneath me sends another tremor up my spine as I rub the back of my head with a soft touch. It feels bruised. Slowly standing up, pain shoots up my side in a quick bite, coaxing a muffled groan from my throat. My own shaky, warm breath is the only sound in the house, making me feel uneasy... Why is it so quiet? My heartbeat is still quick from before. A few hours, a few minutes ago, I don’t know how long I was passed out. I examine the dimly lit room, unable to feel anything more than nervousness as I do so. I drag my eyes around the room, trying to receive just one clue about what could have happened before I seemingly passed out. Everything seemed to be in place, except for a few things. One, there was a bit of broken glass on the floor, most likely never to be cleaned up. Second, there was liquid on the floor, and it smelled of blood. The disturbing amount of the red liquid on the floor causes me to feel the back of my head once again. No blood here. I crouch down, attempting at a closer look with a queasy, wide-eyed frown on my face. A shaky hand reaches out, deathly pale fingers preparing for contact. It was still wet. I yank my hand back fearfully, a gasp of breath being taken in out of surprise. “Fuck...” I say to myself, though it didn’t make me feel any better. “This... This is messed up...” I close my eyes tightly as though I was trying to wake up, though I knew this wasn’t a dream. I turn my gaze towards the window, trying to look at something other than the blood that may or may not be mine. Black hair clings to my face from whatever sweat or blood had been stuck to it. I make a move to brush it away, when I feel something wet on the left side of my face. I smell blood. How did I not notice before? I begin to panic, as anyone would. My hand trembles incessantly, most likely to tell me to pull away, or that I’d rather not know what it is. I either hadn’t felt like listening, or I just didn’t want to find out later, so I reached for it. Putting the cold hand against my cheek, I could feel the dripping of something from my eye, as though it was bleeding. The warm liquid drips onto my hand, giving me a scare. I look at my hand, red covering my fingers and palm in a slightly sticky mess. It had been. ‘Oh god,’ I thought, feeling as though I was going to vomit. And I did. Bitter, burning vomit ran up my throat, and I ran to the bathroom in the hallway. I didn’t want to turn on the light, oh God, anything but the light. It would reveal any injury that I had taken, and I was already in a great state of panic. The incredulous laughter of whatever God there was must have been sickening for anyone who could have heard it, and I swear I do. With the door wide open, I wretch into the toilet, uncontrollably sick. The vomit that was induced by the discovery of the blood seems to be nothing but black to me, a symptom of an ulcer. Black blood. I pant, pain rising up like a wave and tearing through my body with a shudder. Burning hot, freezing cold- this made it all the more painful. Another wretch into the toilet comes, cutting through my torso like a blade. It hurt so bad, it stung so horribly, but I couldn’t stop. The emptying made it horrifyingly worse, and I knew that it was only going to go downhill. When nothing was left to vomit, I continued still, almost convulsing as stomach acid made its way out of my stomach and out of my mouth. Everything was spinning, I couldn’t see straight, nor could I think straight. All I knew was that I was hurting, hurting so badly. This pain, at this point, was the only thing I knew. I sat and shook in front of the toilet, afraid for my life. I couldn’t handle this, I had no idea what was going on. I don’t know what had happened. My breath quickened along with my heavy pulse as I again thought of the blood coming from my eye. Gripping the seat of the toilet, I struggle to get my thoughts gathered. I have to see. I have to see what happened. I struggle to stand, stumbling forward slightly, but I manage to get up. The blood had dripped everywhere during the time in which I’d been throwing up- I was bleeding much worse than I thought- and made the bathroom a sticky mess that seemed to be from a horror film. Hesitantly turning on the light, I slowly turn around to face what could be a most disturbing image. I wince at the brightness of the light, although it is rather dim, and close my eyes. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears like water. It scares me. My breathing turns into a frantic intake of air, making the room spin slightly more. In the mirror, the entirety of the left side of my face was covered with dried blood, and blood that was continuously bubbling out. All I can do is stare at my malformed cheekbone, my eye. My breathing hitched, and my throat closed up. Letting out a sob, my legs grow unstable. I fall to my knees, unable to keep myself held up. I lay to my side, holding my aching form as though it would fall apart at any moment- like I was sewn together, but the stitches were being pulled out. Hyperventilating, I stare straight ahead in a frenzied panic that rendered me unable to move. Covering my eye- which was forming a new found pain- I try to stop the bleeding, though I know it won’t stop. I can feel tears slipping from my right eye- though it came out as an even darker color than the blood. Black, reddened black, flows from my eye and drips onto the floor, sending droplets everywhere. The vomit itself was black as well, and convinced me I was close to dying, though I am not in nearly as much pain as I imagined I should be experiencing. Bringing my fingers back to my bleeding eye, I contemplate over what I should do next. Without thinking, I- without much hesitance- slip my forefinger into my eye socket. I yell out in pain, feeling more queasiness arising in my abdomen, and even more liquid seeping from my eye. I dig my finger into my eye socket mercilessly, not knowing exactly why I’m doing it. I must have a reason. ‘I don’t want to see this anymore. I can live without my eyes. I don’t need them. I don’t want to have sight, if I have to see this’, I must have thought. “G-Gah..!” I hoarsely call out. My mouth remains wide open as I gag, trying to keep back what must be blood coming from my stomach. The depressing, dull humming of the light fixture remains an ambient background noise, mingling together with the pained screams and shouts coming out of my mouth. The pain in my eye grows increasingly worse, pulling more and more bile from my stomach. The acid burned my throat and stomach, though all I can do is repeatedly swallow, torturing my poor, ragged innards for the third- fourth- and fifth time. My eye was crushed- ripped apart at this point, but I couldn’t stop what I was doing. Bloody, red pieces of the eye that once was mine fell to the tile floor, blood spattering along with it. I couldn’t scream any more, I was breathless. I felt numb in every part of my body, but it was much better than all of that pain. I pull the rest of the bloody mess out from my eye, it making a hollow dripping noise as it hits the tile. Breathing heavily, I start on the other eye. I sit up, hunched over and looking at the gore surrounding me through my intact eye. I feel disgusted, but I love it. It’s beautiful. Beautifully disgusting, I muse. Disturbing, even. Or not? I couldn’t tell. I must have lost too much blood to think straight. I must be dying. Oh, how I wish I could tell. Oh, how I wish the world would die with me. I laugh a crazed, dry laugh. Another finger enters my eye, the pressure causing pain within it. The pressing of it causes my vision to blur, bright patches blotting my vision out in sequence with the pressure. My body tremors once again, though I remain indifferent and continue. This will happen whether I’m shaking or not. Disconnecting my eye from its socket by severing the tissue holding it in place, I press my middle finger up against it as well. I could feel it being crushed; I could feel it bleeding from the inside. I won’t have to see. Manic Depressive Disorder, also known as bipolar disorder, a disease of the mind known to cause bizarre changes in mood or behavior as well as thoughts, in an unpredictable manner. . . . What is wrong with me? I want... I don’t know what I want. I don’t belong here, do I? In this world, known to all as simply another human. I scratch harder. I dig deeper, scraping the bone inside of the socket. I gag, though it sounds like a cough. Black. I laugh. “So much better...” I say in a slightly demented tone. I’m done with this endless thinking, this endless contemplation, I scold myself. I press much harder, my vision completely gone. A wave of burning pain once again cuts through my body like nails, searing and tearing gashes, twisting and turning in grotesque ways. I dig my fingers into my eye, scraping and digging out every piece of that curse out of my body. I can feel blood pouring from them, down to the floor, all over my clothes, everywhere. I can feel the warmth. Why am I not dead yet? I am surely to go to hell. The sounds around me are amplified due to the lack of vision, as well as my sense of touch. Standing up, I feel contorted, as though my body itself has copied the mangled mess that was once my sense of sight. I grin. Of course not, it couldn’t be. My bleeding sockets give another wash of blood over my cheeks, a warm flush like tears. I wonder how it would have been like to have done this so long ago. But I don’t want to die. I feel another wave of pain as I rest against the wall. I really don’t. I don’t have much choice now, do I? I keep my eyes- or at least, what once were my eyes- closed. Though there is no eye behind the lids, they retain their shape as though I still do. They will continue to bleed profusely, no matter what. They will keep bleeding, until there is nothing left to bleed. I frown once again, realizing to a full extent what I’d done. I know I will bleed to death. No escaping the inevitable. Sometimes, I hate the life I made- though I can only do this? I don’t understand. Why not just kill myself? Because that would have been the easy way out, clearly. I grit my teeth tightly. What caused me to do this? Another shot of pain reaches from the back of my head and spreads to my sockets- receiving a small yelp in return. I stumble forward, groping for walls or doors, anything to hold me up. My entire body trembles, and dizzying sickness flows through the entirety of my body, most likely due to the loss of blood. Feeling for the cold walls, I struggle in keeping my legs taut. My clothes were thoroughly doused in blood, making the fabric stick to the skin beneath it as though it was glued together. Placing a firm hand on the wall, I begin staggering towards where my phone would normally be placed. “Shit...” I curse, another feeling of sickness digging into my gut. Now wouldn’t be a good time to throw up... I need to get the phone. ... Can they even help me now? Category:Mental Illness